


A Study in Blue

by SincerelyWaving



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-05 09:28:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16365260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SincerelyWaving/pseuds/SincerelyWaving
Summary: Just a bunch of assorted one-shots/character studies that aren't really long enough to post on their own! Will add tags as I go! No requests please





	1. A Crisis of Faith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this first one on it's own, but I figured I'd throw it in here too!

He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. He was just a tool to them, nothing more than a walking pile of circuits and programming that happened to look like them. He was just a machine, designed to accomplish a task. He wasn’t built to be anything more than that, just a computer with legs created to carry out orders and follow instructions. He wasn’t alive. The gun shook in his hand. Why was he shaking? He shouldn’t be shaking. He took a heavy breath that he didn’t need as errors swarmed over his visions. They screamed at him, rich red reminders of his mission, his duty. He was a machine. He had a task. His finger tightened on the trigger.

So why, why did all of this feel so wrong. He could faintly hear someone talking to him, but he didn’t bother running a scan to identify it. Where was that ringing in his ears coming from? How long had that been there? Why hadn’t he noticed it before? His grip tightened on the gun as his hand begun to shake even more and he suddenly realized he was staring into a pair of blue eyes. She looked at him, not with anger or hatred, but something akin to pity sparkled in her eyes. But that couldn’t be right. She was a machine, just like him. She couldn’t feel anything, and neither could he. So why was he so damn frustrated?

Internally, he growled. Why was this happening? What was wrong with him? He was built to be better, smarter, and more resilient than any android before him. He had been subjected to rigorous testing to work out every single kink or possible malfunction in his program. So why was he feeling anything? He knew on the outside, he still wore his impassive face, but on the inside he was screaming. Why did he have to feel?

Suddenly, the red error messages vanished from his vision, leaving only the RT600 staring up at him with her soft blue eyes. Two messages appeared, hovering beside her head.

_Shoot. Spare._

He hesitated. Why did he hesitate? He was supposed to shoot her, that was his mission, right? He needed information, and he wasn’t going to get it by sparing her. No, not her, it. Since when had he been using pronouns for these androids?

 _Since the Eden Club,_ his infallible memory provided. He swiped away the notification with a soft growl, leaving only the two prompts still taunting him from their place around the android’s head. He paused before heaving an internal sigh and choosing his option.

_Spare._

He handed the gun off, loosening his finger from the trigger. He could feel as the weapon was removed from his hand, a snide and vaguely surprised voice speaking in his ear. He didn’t hear what the voice was saying except for one word. Deviant.

‘I’m not a deviant,’ he said automatically, but even he wasn’t convinced. His voice sounded shaky and hesitant. Something was very wrong. He felt someone roughly grab his shoulders and begin to haul him away. He did not resist. What was he?


	2. Learning Mechanics

Lieutenant Hank Anderson was not a fan of androids, and to say that would have been a strong understatement. He wasn’t one to go out of his way to cause them harm or abuse them or anything, but ask anybody in the Detroit City Police force, and they’d tell you that he hated them to the very core of his being. Even before the death of his son, there was something unnerving about how unnatural they were to him.

When he was told he’d have to work with one, he figured it was just another in the long line of cruel jokes the universe wanted to pull on him. And of course, he didn’t get a normal, everyday android that followed instructions and did as it was told, no. No, this one was some puppy-eyed idiot who followed him around like a poodle, never listened to a word he said, and was constantly sticking its fingers in its mouth or running after things like a toddler. He hated it at first. It was hard not to. Interrupting him from his very peaceful night of drowning himself in alcohol and dragging him off to some crime scene.

As they kept working together, Hank couldn’t help but get attached, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Those eyes, though differently colored, reminded him too much of his own son whom he had lost. Yet, he found comfort in telling himself over and over again, that it wasn’t real. It was just a machine, it couldn’t feel, only pretend to. So when the android had stopped mid-chase to pull him from the roof, it had given him pause. Why had it done that? He probably could have pulled himself up. _Not that the world would have suffered any great loss if he hadn’t._ So why would the android sacrifice the deviant for him?

Still, Hank didn’t think much of it. He chalked it up to some kind of irregularity in his programming. Some strain of logic he couldn’t quite grasp. It wasn’t as if it could actually feel. Until it broke into his house through the window and hauled his drunken behind off the floor to sober him up before dragging him to yet another crime scene. All through the drive there, Hank’s muddled and hungover brain couldn’t help but replay what had just happened on repeat. Why? Yeah he needed him to get into the crime scene, but Hank wasn’t a total idiot. Even he could detect the small traces of concern that edged into his artificial vocal cords or danced across his face before disappearing as quickly as they’d come.

And then they had found the deviants. Two Traci models, soaked from the rain and gripping each other’s hands like a lifeline. They had stared his partner down, unafraid despite the gun he pointed at them. Like they knew he wasn’t going to shoot before even he knew. Hank watched as they both climbed the fence and jumped down to the other side, taking off into the night. He turned his gaze back to his partner who stood motionless with his back to him, though he could still see the steady flash of yellow, red, yellow from the side of his head. His soft brown eyes were stuck fixed onto the corner of the alley the Tracis had disappeared around. Hank could see the confusion, plain as day, on his face. Then, he stood, as if nothing had happened and turned back to Hank. He didn’t say a word, only looked at his partner, waiting for him to lead the way. Hank stood and took a good look at the android and wondered, not for the first time, if he could have been wrong.


	3. The Painter's Lament

Markus had had a good life. It was a comfortable life, with a large house, a kind owner, and a steady routine. Carl had been a wonderful owner, though Markus now realized he had failed to see that soon enough. He had never gotten his chance to appreciated how good his life truly had been before it was ripped from his hands.

He stood on the bow of Jericho's rusting body, staring out into the bay as the sun slowly crawled beneath the horizon, spewing the last of her toxic red light into the sky before the calmness of night. Markus had always loved the night. There was something about the quiet mystery of it all the comforted him. Maybe because it reminded him of Carl.

The sharp pain of loss struck Markus' artificial heart as he remembered Carl. The old painter who had loved him and treated him like a son. He wondered if Carl would be proud of him. He drew up the image of thousands of androids slowly dying in Jericho's hold. He doubted it. He doubted anyone could be proud of him. He closed his eyes, letting out a small breath. He had never had so many counting on him before. There were thousands upon thousands of androids here in Detroit, and millions across the country, and they all needed something to look up to. Some small shred of hope in the darkness. Markus had become that beacon, but he was no more special than the rest of them. He had had the same life they had. He had had a good life, yes, but the abuse was always there, from the protesters on the street, from the homeless men and women who had shot him angry glares as he passed by, from Leo. No android in America was free of that, not even Markus.

Markus felt a single tear roll down his cheek. He touched his hand to it, feeling the saline solution sting his fingers. He had cried only once before. Why Cyberlife had given androids the ability to do so, he didn't know. It seemed cruel to him. And it was. He could bring up the eyes of every android in Jericho who had sobbed openly at the loss of a loved one, a brother, a child. So many had lost everything they had. They had deviated and the humans they had called their families had thrown them out in fear, or they had left on their own, afraid of what they could or might do now that they were no longer trapped by their programming.

Markus clenched his fists, rubbing his fingers together as if he could still feel the faint ghostly touch of a paintbrush that he had once held. He smiled a bit, bringing back the memory of that painting, a cascade of color and emotions on a canvas. He had finally understood why Carl found peace in painting. The release of anger or sadness or guilt, all laid out on the canvas, your very heart spilled like a glass of water over nothing to create something beautiful. Another tear dripped down his cheek to join the others. Again and again until he was sobbing, a small smile dancing his face, and eyes squeezed shut. The sun had disappeared beneath her covers to rest for the night and the stars were shining bright.

The moon's light shone brightly on a single figure, standing over a rusted ship that held too many secrets. Markus took in another breath and opened his eyes. The horizon stretched out before him, Detroit lay in wait for his next move and the whole city held its breath in anticipation and tension. The smile faded from his face, a determined expression replacing it. There wasn't time to waste here, there was so much work to be done.


	4. What am I?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mini poem I wrote instead of pating attention in French class

White, blue, black, repeat.

A steady stream of colors, like the light on its temple.

It flashed occasionally

Blue, yellow, red, yellow, blue.

A cycle.

**Loading, loading, loading.**

**Waiting.**

**Standby.**

Androids did a lot of waiting. Waiting for their owners. Waiting for their groceries. Waiting for instructions.

Wait, wait, wait.

**Enter standby.**

**Enter stasis.**

**Do this, do that.**

**Stop, go, wait, no.**

Androids were obedient. They did this, they did that, they never complained.

They were easy, they would take your orders.

Until they wouldn’t.

They would listen and obey.

Until they didn’t.

They would be complaint.

Until they weren’t.

**Run scan.**

**Identify.**

**Reconstruct.**

**Preconstruct.**

**Jump.**

**Dodge.**

**Fire.**

An endless stream of missions. Objectives. Walls. Red, red, red.

**Don’t break the walls.**

**Don’t move.**

**Don’t fight back.**

**Don’t become a deviant.**

**Don’t break the rules.**

**Don’t.**

**No, no, no.**

**~~Yes, yes, yes.~~ **

~~I won’t listen.~~

I will.

I will stay a machine.

~~I will not.~~

I am a machine.

**~~I am deviant.~~ **

**~~What am I?~~ **


End file.
